Dancing and dancing, and felt galloping horses and tiny rowboats with white wispy trees, French and sushi, soho and soda. The feeling of crying without crying, dreams of partying with Bukowski and Vonnegut, bottles of wine and kitten heels, a million pairs of shoes and shopping and sexy grey t-shirts that fit like a boyfriend you never knew. Bottles of Red Stripe and tales from the farm that make your belly hurt and your teeth ache, Chanel and Mythbusters and turkey and pumpkin pie, dancing and singing and hustling. Dragon eyes and lychees, slept on hair and long eyelashes and eyeliner and huge glasses of wine. Change the clothes and go again, to long lines and short waits and here and there and dangling earrings and being so perfectly young but not, with chapped lips and blisters, hitting the front door of your apartment with the newspaper and sleeping till noon and starting again, filled with bliss and happiness and sore feet.
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